les more the war is lost," she wailed.

"Is the British navy anchored in those three miles?" demanded Susan
scornfully.

"It is the opinion of a man who knows all about it," said Cousin Sophia
solemnly.

"There is no such person," retorted Susan. "As for the military
critics, they do not know one blessed thing about it, any more than you
or I. They have been mistaken times out of number. Why do you always
look on the dark side, Sophia Crawford?"

"Because there ain't any bright side, Susan Baker."

"Oh, is there not? It is the twentieth of April, and Hindy is not in
Paris yet, although he said he would be there by April first. Is that
not a bright spot at least?"

"It is my opinion that the Germans will be in Paris before very long
and more than that, Susan Baker, they will be in Canada."

"Not in this part of it. The Huns shall never set foot in Prince Edward
Island as long as I can handle a pitchfork," declared Susan, looking,
and feeling quite equal to routing the entire German army
single-handed. "No, Sophia Crawford, to tell you the plain truth I am
sick and tired of your gloomy predictions. I do not deny that some
mistakes have been made. The Germans would never have got back
Passchendaele if the Canadians had been left there; and it was bad
business trusting to those Portuguese at the Lys River. But that is no
reason why you or anyone should go about proclaiming the war is lost. I
do not want to quarrel with you, least of all at such a time as this,
but our morale must be kept up, and I am going to speak my mind out
plainly and tell you that if you cannot keep from such croaking your
room is better than your company."

Cousin Sophia marched home in high dudgeon to digest her affront, and
did not reappear in Susan's kitchen for many weeks. Perhaps it was just
as well, for they were hard weeks, when the Germans continued to
strike, now here, now there, and seemingly vital points fell to them at
every blow. And one day in early May, when wind and sunshine frolicked
in Rainbow Valley and the maple grove was golden-green and the harbour
all blue and dimpled and white-capped, the news came about Jem.

There had been a trench raid on the Canadian front--a little trench
raid so insignificant that it was never even mentioned in the
dispatches and when it was over Lieutenant James Blythe was reported
"wounded and missing."

"I think this is even worse than the news of his death would have
been," moaned Rilla t